


You're An Idiot (But At Least You're Mine)

by pensversusswords



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is injured during a mission, and Natasha worries. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're An Idiot (But At Least You're Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt I did as a belated birthday present for [agentcarhter](http://agentcarhter.tumblr.com/) who requested buckynat angst. I was more than happy to oblige with my favourite angsty trope.
> 
> [My tumblr](http://preserumsteve.co.vu), where I take prompts and all the fun stuff happens.

Natasha had always hated hospital waiting rooms.

They were too bright. The bare fluorescent lighting was stark and glaring, the air thick with the scent of sterility. Everything was a dull and muted quiet, the people sitting in the uncomfortable waiting chairs, the unassuming impressionist art that hung on the walls. The atmosphere was caught somewhere between mind numbingly dull and obnoxious enough to get under your skin.

It turned out that it was even worse when you were waiting for someone you cared about.

She knew Bucky was going to be okay. He’d suffered non fatal bullet wounds in his side and his shoulder, but it was enough to knock him out of commission for the rest of their assignment, enough that Natasha had to almost fully support his weight as she dragged him from the compound, shielding them both from gunfire as they evacuated. He’d been lucid when they’d gotten out, grunting in pain as he settled back on the seat when they’d managed to get out to catch their ride. She’d been shooed out of the way when they’d gotten to the SHIELD hospital, with somewhat optimistic reports on his condition.

And yet she sat there for hours upon hours, waiting, her back stiff as a board and her heart in her throat.

When the doctor came out, called out, “Agent Romanoff?” without even looking up from his clipboard, she was on her feet in an instant. She kept her face as impassive as possible, her breath sticking in heavily in her throat as she waited for the confirmation that he was okay. When he said so, the rigid line of her shoulders visibly relaxed, and the sharp worry in her stomach began to unfurl itself as relief rushed through her. Her heart still choking her, she followed the doctor out of the room.

She didn’t imagine that she would fully be at ease until she actually saw him, and was able to verify with her own eyes that he was alright, to feel his skin warm under her finger tips. The memory of seeing him with his face pallid and twisted in pain, that brief moment of panic she’d felt when he went down and didn’t move for a few seconds too long, still tasted bitter and vile in her mouth.

She walked into his room to find him propped up on a bed of pillows, wearing a hospital gown and sporting a rather large bandage across his forehead. He looked tired and haggard, and rightly so considering what he’d been through. There were dark rings of exhaustion hovering under his eyes, his already normally unkempt hair mussed and sticking out in a few places. Despite that, she’d have had to have been blind to miss the way that he was smiling at her softly, his eyes lighting up in that way they did whenever she walked into a room.

“Nice gown,” she said mildly as the door closed behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Her voice was level and carefully bereft of the emotions that were bubbling in her chest. She crossed her arms, as though doing so might aid her in keeping those emotions in place.

"Thanks," he answered wryly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that familiar grin she knew so well. "Picked it out myself."

He held out a hand to her, gesturing for her to come to him by waggling his fingers in her direction. She approached the bed slowly and returned the movement, winding her fingers through his when their hands met, but resisted when he tugged on them lightly.

"Come lay down with me?" he asked softly when she stood firmly rooted in one spot.

"I’ll hurt you," she responded, her voice just as soft and careful.

He rolled his eyes, and shook his head. He winced a bit at the movement, but he was still grinning at her.

"Come on, I’m fine. You won’t break me."

"You can’t even move without hurting yourself," she pointed out.

He shrugged, and of course, winced again. There was no denying the fact that he was still in a massive amount of pain, but he didn’t seem interested in disputing it. She knew he probably just didn’t care.

"It’s fine," he assured her, squeezing her fingertips lightly. "I’m fine. You won’t hurt me at all, I’m okay if I just lay still. And it’d be worth it anyways."

"Sap," she informed him, and he shrugged unapologetically.

She bit the inside of her cheek, assessing the man staring up at her, all tired eyes and bruised flesh. He looked like he’d been through hell, but he was still looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She would never understand how he did that.

"Please, Nat?" he asked again, still hopeful. He tugged lightly on her hand in a suggestion.

She could refuse, she knew she could, but deep down she knew her concern ran too deep. He was alive and in one piece, and he was okay. There was that worry still settled heavy and sick in her stomach that was making her hesitate, causing her to pause when all she wanted to do was throw herself down next to him and feel the length of him against her.

But he was looking at her like that, and she felt her resolve crumbling.

Natasha sighed. “Move over,” she told him, and that grin she loved so much broke across his face instantly. He scooted towards the opposite side of the bed, settled into position, and patted the sheets beside him.

She slid into the bed slowly and curled up next to him, carefully arranging her body to try to hurt him as little as possible. She draped her legs over his thighs and rested her head on his shoulder, burying her face into the crook of his neck, like she’d done so many times before. His arm came around to clutch at her shoulder, finger starting to lightly caress the bare skin that peeked out from the collar of her shirt. She looped one arm around his waist, as gently as possible, and with satisfaction she felt all of the worry drain from her body as she relaxed into his touch. This was what she needed, to feel him solid and warm against her, to feel the familiarity of them holding each other like they did countless times.

"See?" Bucky said into her hair, his voice rumbling gently across her scalp. "I’m perfectly fine."

Natasha made a soft noise of derision. ” идиот,” she told him. _(trans: idiot)_

"Yup," he agreed, a bit too cheerfully for their current circumstances. "Your idiot though."

"I’m so lucky," she answered dryly and, because she couldn’t help herself, dared to hug him the slightest bit tighter for a fraction of a moment. She was still careful not to hurt him, and he made a small contented noise when she did so.

When he chuckled under his breath and leaned into her to pressed a kiss to the top of her head, she thought that yes, she was exactly that.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't speak Russian. Any Russian that appears in the fic is by google translate.


End file.
